Legacy of Shadows : Symphony of Terror
by jeuxsansfrontieres
Summary: Collinwood in 1927. A new governess arrives, a lustful maid seeks revenge, and a force of evil is summoned to Collinwood.
1. Chapter 1

**Legacy of Shadows #1 : Symphony of Terror**

**A Collinwood story.**

_Collinsport, Maine. 1927._

Elizabeth Collins sat at the foot of the stairs in the foyer of her ancestral home. Her eyes were on the grandfather clock on the other side of the room, watching its pendulum swing. It swung, and she waited. Elizabeth Collins did a lot of waiting. For a twelve-year-old girl growing up in a gloomy mansion with no one to play with but a spoiled 4-year-old brother, there was little else to do but wait. Wait for something to happen.

Beyond the front door, Elizabeth finally heard the sound of wheels splashing through rain puddles. She stood up and smoothed the creases from her skirts as the visitor's footsteps clicked up the pavement. The knock at the front door was light and quick, almost hesitant.

Elizabeth pulled the door open. The girl at the threshold was damp with rain and holding a battered suitcase. An older observer would have been taken with her fresh, innocent prettiness. What Elizabeth noticed was not youth or beauty but that she seemed doubtful and scared, like perhaps the doorway was a mouth and the house might swallow her up.

"Hello," Elizabeth said. Whatever the young woman had been expecting, she seemed relieved to have been greeted by a little girl instead. "Hello," she replied, a little breathless. "I'm Morganne Casey. I'm here to see Mr. Jamison Collins." She smiled a little. "You must be Elizabeth."

"Yes." Elizabeth answered. "My father's been expecting you. Please come in." The young woman brought her suitcase into the foyer and Elizabeth closed the door. "You may wait for him in the drawing room," Elizabeth continued, gesturing to indicate the room. "I'll have your things sent up to your quarters for you."

"Thank you," Morganne replied, a little overwhelmed. The little girl turned and left the room, closing double doors behind her. Morganne was left alone with her thoughts - wondering if the little girl would like her, wondering if she had made the right decision in taking this job, wondering if any of the strange rumors about this house were true. For a moment, standing at the front door just a moment before, she had had an almost overpowering desire to turn on her heel and run. And the little girl had sensed her trepidation - somehow Morganne knew this.

The double doors opened again and Jamison Collins swept into the room. Morganne had met him once before, when she interviewed for the position. But even if she had never met him, his carriage and manner clearly presented him as master of the house. "Mr. Collins," she greeted him, rising from the sofa.

"Miss Casey," he replied, taking her hand. "I understand you've met Elizabeth."

"Yes, she greeted me at the door. She has commendable manners."

Mr. Collins nodded. "She is the heir to the Collins estate. I have taken it upon myself to instruct her in certain matters. She is nearly as skilled in courteous reception of guests as I."

"If she takes to her academic studies even half as well, I think it shall be light work to tutor her."

"You will find out soon enough. Tonight you need only concern yourself with unpacking your things. I will have someone show you to your room."

The housemaid who brought Morganne upstairs was named Lucy McGregor. She was about the same age as Morganne, with a pretty, round face and a pouty mouth. Lucy carried herself with such an air of self-importance that, had she not been dressed in a maid's uniform, Morganne would have taken her as a Collins rather than a servant. Morganne thought that Lucy might offer to help unpack her things, but instead the maid stood by the door, her hand on her hip, and watched Morganne put her things away.

"Is this all you have?" Lucy asked, a note of distaste in her voice, as Morganne hung the last of her few dresses in the wardrobe.

"Yes, I brought just the one suitcase."

"You're not an orphan, are you?"

"An orphan?"

"You know, no parents." Lucy sounded impatient.

"I know what an orphan is!" Morganne replied, a little offended.

"I'm an orphan," the maid continued, taking no heed of the anger in Morganne's tone. "Seems like girls like me - with no family - often end up working for rich families like this. And you have so few things. So are you?"

"An orphan? No. I have a mother and father in Logansport." Her scant possessions were due in part to her family having little money, but Morganne saw no need to mention this to Lucy. She was instantly glad of the decision.

"Oh, Logansport," Lucy said, making a dismissive gesture. "I tried for a job there before I got this one, but I'm glad I didn't get it. That Mr. Logan, if he had half as much money as Mr. Collins has, he wouldn't know what to do with it!"

"I'm sure," Morganne replied, not knowing what to say.

"At any rate," Lucy continued, "it's a good thing for you, then, that you're not an orphan. Collinwood's no place for girls with no family."

"I don't understand you."

"If you've got no relations, there's no one to ask questions… if something should happen to you."

"Why should something happen?"

Lucy laughed. "Things happen here! Why, do you know about the governess before you?"

"Mr. Collins said she left suddenly."

Lucy giggled. "Spent maybe two months here, then picked up her skirts and ran! Left suddenly, I'll say!" Morganne was reminded of her desire to do the same, not half an hour ago, before she'd even come in. "And for every living person you'll meet who lives here," Lucy went on, "there's two or three more you can't see!"

"Are you talking about ghosts, Miss McGregor?" Morganne said sharply. "I don't believe in that sort of thing. And if you think it's such a bad place for an orphaned girl, why do you stay?"

"Oh, Mr. Collins likes me so much, he won't let those nasty ghosties get me!" Lucy laughed again, rather shrilly. For some reason she could not discern, Morganne felt uncomfortable.

"I'm quite tired after the journey," she said. Lucy took the hint and left the room.

Finally alone, Morganne took in her new surroundings. The bedroom seemed somehow grand and depressing at the same time. The furnishings were antiques, and though they were dust-free and in good repair they seemed like they had not been used in a long time. The carpet was slightly faded as though aged, though clearly the color was once rich. The whole room made Morganne think of a Queen who is nearing the end of her reign - old and tired, yet still regal and magnificent.

After undressing and putting out the light, Morganne got into her bed, with its lovely headboard made of dark wood and intricate carving. The rain she had traveled through had blossomed into a storm. Thunder rattled her window, flashes of lightning illuminated her room, and most of all, Lucy's strange warnings - if you could call them that - replayed themselves in Morganne's mind. It was a very long time before she was asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning light came into her room soft and filtered ; the night's storm had left behind a veil of fog. Morganne awoke early and, though she did not feel rested, dressed herself and went downstairs.

In the foyer she was greeted by another maid, a plump, matronly woman with the unfortunate name of Bess Grossman. She led Morganne into the kitchen and began fixing a breakfast for her.

"The family take their breakfast in the formal dining room at 8 o'clock," Bess informed Morganne. "It is up to you whether you prefer to dine with the family, or eat early as you are doing now and use the rest of the morning to plan your lessons." Bess set a plate of food in front of Morganne, then turned back to the stove to continue cooking breakfast for the family. "You may be a governess, Miss Casey, but I must warn you, you will probably be asked to take on other duties more befitting a housemaid."

"Oh? Is there so much work?" Morganne asked, then quickly added, "I don't mean to sound impudent. This is a very large house. But surely, between you and Miss McGregor-"

"Ah yes, Miss McGregor." Bess pursed her lips. "Suffice it to say that she does not make herself as useful as she should."

"I must admit she did not make the best impression on me when she brought me to my room last night."

"She is more interested in her fine surroundings, and perhaps the occasional handsome visitor, than in her duties. Oh, and of course parties. How she loves parties!" Bess shook her head.

"If you will forgive my directness, Mrs. Grossman, why has she not…" Morganne trailed off.

"Been dismissed?" Bess volunteered.

"Yes."

Bess seemed hesitant to reply. "Mr. Collins… Well, I am not privy to his thoughts. I'm sure he is frustrated with Lucy. But his reluctance to let her go is understandable. We have trouble finding and keeping help. I'm sure you've heard the ghost stories. Yes, you may hear odd noises or see strange figures. Many a girl has been hired on, only to flee the house months or even weeks later because she's been affrighted. Lucy is not to be scared off, I'll give her that."

"She told me she is an orphan," Morganne reflected. "I suppose if she were dismissed, she would have no money to live on. Perhaps Mr. Collins is also concerned for her welfare. She did say that he likes her."

"What did you say?" Bess said, so sharply that Morganne almost dropped the fork she'd been raising to her mouth.

"Last night - Lucy said that Mr. Collins likes her very much."

The maid's plump cheeks flushed crimson. "She ought not be so bold!"

Morganne was alarmed - she hadn't meant to stir up such emotion. "I didn't take it as boldness," she insisted. "It is good for him to like her."

"Yes, I suppose it is," Bess said, although she didn't sound like she supposed any such thing. "We needn't speak any further of Lucy," she added firmly. "In all likelihood you'll not see much of her - unless perhaps you pass by a mirror. That's her favorite thing to clean."

After breakfast Morganne went into the drawing room and settled onto a sofa with some books and papers, to work on her lesson plans. She wanted very much to concentrate on her work, but she found herself looking up from her books to observe her surroundings. Like her sleeping quarters, this room too was furnished with fine antiques. Some Collins ancestor frowned down at her from above the mantel. It seemed to Morganne that she could _feel _the room's history. How many generations of Collinses had sat in these chairs, warmed themselves at this fireplace, drafted letters at this writing table? It was easy for her to imagine them; if she put her mind to it, she could almost see them. How many of them had argued here? Had anyone - she tried to stop the thought before it materialized - had anyone died in this room?

"Miss Casey," a male voice called, and Morganne almost fell off the sofa before she realized that it was Jamison Collins. In the frenzy of her thoughts she hadn't noticed him enter.

"Ohh… Mr. Collins!" she exclaimed, putting a hand to her chest.

"Did I startle you?" he inquired, and she felt silly. Why had those strange thoughts come into her head? She was not usually given to morbidity.

"No," she lied. "I was just planning some lessons for Elizabeth."

"Very good. She is finishing her breakfast and will be in to see you shortly. Meanwhile there are many things I would like to go over with you. I'm sure you want to be informed of all the members of the household, so you shall not be startled upon meeting anyone. I believe you have met our housemaids Lucy and Bess. There is also a caretaker. He is responsible for maintenance and security and groundskeeping. He lives in a cottage on the grounds, just down the path. As for the family, you will of course get to know Elizabeth quite well. I also have a son, Roger. He is four and, for now, will not require tutoring from you.

"I'm afraid you will not be formally introduced to the lady of the house," he continued. "My wife, Rebecca, fell ill about a year ago and is confined to her bed. Bess tends to her. I should like you to assist her by bringing meals to Mrs. Collins' bedroom and other such errands."

"Of course," Morganne agreed.

"There is… one other resident of this house." He paused, and seemed reluctant to go on. "My sister," he said finally. "Nora. She has not married and thus remains at Collinwood." Morganne felt that he was weighing his words carefully. "Miss Casey, my sister is… forgetful. She may seem to say strange things. I ask you to pay her no heed."

"Yes, sir," Morganne replied.

"As for the grounds and the house itself, you are welcome to enter almost any part of it - with two exceptions. Firstly, there is a structure just beyond the caretaker's cottage, which you may encounter if you follow the path through the woods. This is the Old House - the original Collins residence. Having been in disuse since 1797, it is of course in disrepair and therefore may be hazardous. In addition, the West Wing of this house has been closed off for thirty years. So I would ask that you avoid these areas."

"Of course," Morganne repeated.

"Very good. That should be everything. I am leaving for the office, and Elizabeth shall be in shortly."

"Thank you, Mr. Collins."

Morganne's first day of lessons with Elizabeth was uneventful. The girl was bright and well-mannered, but reserved. Morganne did not try to seek the child's friendship ; she hoped that they would eventually become close, but she would not force it.

The following week Bess asked Morganne if she'd like to help bring Mrs. Collins her lunch, and Morganne accepted the invitation. Bess prepared a meal - consisting solely of a bowl of the thinnest, most unappealing broth that Morganne had ever seen - and they carried it upstairs on a tray.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Collins!" Bess called out as they entered the woman's bedroom. She set the tray on an endtable next to the bed.

Rebecca Collins had been an attractive woman not so long ago, but her illness had of course taken its toll. Her skin was chalky and she was skeletally thin.

"Mrs. Collins," Bess said as she propped up pillows and helped the sick woman into a sitting position, "this is Miss Morganne Casey, the new governess. She arrived Monday last."

Rebecca's eyes, dull and with dark circles under them, drifted to Morganne's face. "Welcome to Collinwood," she said in a voice little more than a whisper.

"Thank you, Mrs. Collins. You have a beautiful home and a very bright daughter."

Rebecca smiled in reply but was too tired for further conversation. Morganne and Bess helped her feed herself, and afterward Bess carried the used dishes downstairs while Morganne headed to her room. On the way, however, Morganne realized she was in an unfamiliar hallway. This visit to Mrs. Collins' room had been her first time in this part of the house, and Bess had been with her on the way there. Morganne had grown up in a two-bedroom cottage, and Collinwood was a vast maze of shadowy corridors and stairways. She looked for some familiar landmark as she made her way through the hallway. The walls were lined with portraits of unsmiling men in vintage finery - more Collins ancestors. She felt like they were staring at her disapprovingly.

She opened a door, hoping to come upon a familiar room and get her bearings. The room she entered was one she'd never been in before, and it was not empty. Lucy McGregor and a middle-aged woman were seated together at a small table. They looked up when Morganne opened the door.

"Forgive me," Morganne said. "I've lost my way - I was looking for my room."

"That's all right," the older woman said, in a singsong voice more befitting a child than a woman of her age. "Come join us."

Morganne came further into the room, hesitantly. The woman was pretty but had a slightly wild look about her, with her brown hair a little unkempt and a strange gleam in her very large dark eyes.

"This is Mr. Collins' sister, Nora," Lucy explained.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Collins," Morganne said.

Nora smiled dreamily. "Please sit down." She waved in the general direction of an empty chair. Uncertain, Morganne sat. Nora seemed to be holding an oversized deck of playing cards.

"Now," Nora said, turning back to Lucy. "This is the primary matter in your life." She took a card and placed it face-up on the table, and Morganne saw that it was not an ordinary playing card at all. The illustration on the card depicted a man holding something aloft.

"The Magician. He represents power, determination-"

"Yes, a man," Lucy murmured. "A powerful, compelling man."

Nora looked at Lucy. "There is a man like this? One who is central to your life?"

Lucy glanced at Morganne. "Perhaps," Lucy said noncommittally. Nora put down another card.

"This is what crosses you. This is your obstacle." The card depicted a woman in a flowing gown sitting on a cushion. "The Empress."

"Yes," Lucy muttered. "Yes, my obstacle is a woman. Look at her, seated on that cushion. That's all she does, she lies around and does nothing. Empress, indeed!"

Nora looked at Lucy a little strangely, but she turned over another card. "Here is the source of your problem." The card was upside down. Nora flipped it around so that it faced Lucy and Morganne. The card showed a couple, a man and a woman, standing nude beneath a winged creature. "The Lovers, but the card was inverted. This can indicate a perverse coupling, such as a… physical relationship that does not involve love."

Lucy frowned. "Go to the next card."

Nora looked at her curiously again. "You'll only have the benefit of a full reading if you take every card into consideration."

"Go to the next card," Lucy repeated.

Nora shrugged and put down another card. "This involves your past, perhaps a matter that was pertinent before but is losing importance. The five of Wands." It looked like a group of men fighting with staffs or large sticks. "Dissent, arguing. Competition."

Lucy nodded emphatically. "It means my rival has become less of a threat to me."

"Very well. And the last card. This is the final outcome." The card she turned over depicted a skeleton in black armor riding a white horse.

"Death."

Surprisingly, Lucy smiled. "Of course. Death is always the final outcome."

Morganne got to her feet. She had wanted to leave as soon as she realized what Lucy and Nora were doing, but didn't want to be impolite by interrupting the "reading". It wasn't that Morganne disapproved of tarot cards, exactly ; she simply didn't believe that a deck of cards could foretell the future. "I must be going," she apologized.

"Shall I do a reading for you, dear?" Nora inquired, shuffling the cards.

"No thank you," Morganne replied, and she left the room.

"She seemed like a nice girl," Nora remarked.

"I find her rather dull myself," Lucy said.

"I once had a governess called Rachel Drummond," Nora said in a lilting tone . "Rachel is very beautiful. She works at Reverend Trask's school."

Lucy picked up the deck of tarot cards and shuffled them idly. Nora spent a lot of time reminiscing about her childhood, sometimes lapsing into present tense as she did so.

"Tim Shaw teaches there too," Nora continued. "He used to be so nice, but lately he's been very strange. I think it has something to do with that funny wooden box. I wonder if Jamison remembers that box."

"Say, Nora," Lucy interjected. "Where are these tarot cards from?"

Nora had been absorbed in her reverie. "What?"

"The cards," Lucy repeated. "Did you purchase them?"

"Oh no," Nora said. "They are Quentin's. He left his things behind when he left Collinwood." She paused. "Uncle Quentin is very handsome, but he drinks too much brandy."

"Never mind that," Lucy said, exasperated. "What else did he leave behind? Other things like tarot cards - means of divination?"

"Yes - strange books, and other things. I don't remember everything there is. I only use the cards."

Lucy tried to sound nonchalant, though she was brimming with excitement. "Where are these things? May I look at them?"

Nora went to her wardrobe and pulled out a box, which she brought to Lucy. Lucy rifled through it as though unwrapping a Christmas present. Nora had settled back into her chair and was relating a story about a teacher saving her life in a fire. Lucy ignored her and explored the box, which was full of witchboards and I Ching wands and books of the occult with faded covers and gilt edges. She slipped a few of the smallest books into the pockets of her maid uniform. Nora prattled on, oblivious.


	3. Chapter 3

After dinner that night, Morganne brought her books into the drawing room to put finishing touches on the next day's lessons for Elizabeth. Powerful winds buffeted the mansion. She was not alone ; Lucy ambled around the room, unenthusiastically flicking her feather duster at various pieces of furniture. The wind escalated into an unearthly wail. Morganne forgot about her books and went to the window, watching the wind assault the trees. "My word," she gasped, "I've been here in Maine all my life and have never heard such a sound!"

"That's because it's not just the wind," Lucy told her.

"What are you talking about?"

"It's the widows."

"The widows?"

Lucy nodded gravely. "Most of them were women who lived in the village and were married to sailors. When ships were lost at sea, the sailors' wives would sit upon the cliffs at the top of Widows' Hill and look out at the sea, watching for the masts of the ships that would bring their husbands home. When they finally realized that their men were never coming back, they'd leap to their deaths. On nights such as this you can still hear the widows moaning in grief for their dead husbands, and crying out with the pain of hitting the rocks below."

Morganne shook her head. "That's a very interesting ghost story, Miss McGregor."

The wind was still howling as Morganne prepared for bed that night, and as she put out the light and climbed into her bed, she had to admit that it didn't sound like wind at all. It sounded like a chorus of agonized screams.

It's just the wind, she thought.

_She stood at the crest of Widow's Hill, her hair swirling in the strong breeze. She could smell the salt of the seawater. The Atlantic stretched out before her, cold and gray and hard. Many days and nights had she kept watch, scanning the horizon for some dark speck, a speck that would come into focus and reveal itself to be a ship. He would come home. Surely he would come home._

_But he would not come home. The sea had taken him, this violent sea that hurled itself against the base of the cliff. The foam that churned and sprayed against the rocks was like the spittle of a rabid animal._

When Morganne awoke next morning, the heavy atmosphere of her dream still lingered, reflected in the wet gray skies out her window and in a vague sense of dread in her chest. She dressed and made her bed and tried to shake off the feeling. Descending the stairs into the foyer, she felt no hunger, so she turned not toward the kitchen but to the front door. She decided that a walk through the grounds would clear her head. She didn't mind the weather much, and at any rate she saw the sun struggling to break through the gray.

Her shoes squished through wet clumps of leaves as she strolled through the estate. A breeze came up, blowing through her hair and bringing with it a sharp smell of saltwater from the coast, and she was reminded forcibly of her dream. It had been so vivid - she had felt the wind and smelled the water and felt the grief for her husband lost at sea - but of course she was not married. She was forced to conclude that Lucy's story of sorrowful widows had affected her imagination more than she had appreciated at the time. She thought it best to push the matter from her mind. She redirected her attention to her surroundings, for in her ruminations she hadn't been paying attention to where she was walking. She wasn't scared of getting lost, exactly, for she had been following a path that did not fork, but she at least wanted an idea of the distance she had covered.

She was surprised to see that she had come upon a large house, a beautiful white mansion with a curved portico, and for a moment she thought absurdly that the Collins family had neighbors, until she remembered that Jamison Collins had mentioned the original Collins residence that still stood, unused. She came closer to the house and could now see that the paint was peeling. As she gazed at the windows, noting the layer of dust and grime coating them, something white flitted past the window.

Mr. Collins had said this house was uninhabitable, hazardous to even enter. But she was sure she had just seen someone inside. Who was it? She approached the house, gazing intently through the window.

A woman. A very pale woman in a white dress crossed through the dark sitting room and out of sight.

Before Morganne had time to react, an angry voice behind her cried out,

"Hey! You get away from there!"

Morganne spun around to see a young man marching toward her. She saw from his dress that he was a workman, and her first thought was that he would be good looking if not for the angry expression on his face. His brow was knitted into a frown, but as he came nearer the anger melted into confusion.

"Oh," he said, nonplussed, as he looked at her. "I'm sorry ma'am, from a distance I thought you were a kid. Sometimes kids from the village" - he gestured toward Collinsport - "think it's funny to come up here and mess around."

"I'm Elizabeth Collins' governess," Morganne explained. "Morganne Casey."

"Liam Kennedy," he replied. "I'm the caretaker. And ma'am, I wouldn't poke around this house much if I were you, it's in bad shape. Could be dangerous."

"I was looking in the window," she explained, "because I saw someone in the house! There's a woman wandering around in there!"

Liam's expression changed perceptibly, but he didn't seem surprised. "Wearing a long white dress?" he asked dully, as if he knew the answer already.

"Yes," Morganne replied, perplexed. "You already know - ?"

"That's…" Liam trailed off, seeming to inwardly debate what to say. "That's Josette," he said finally.

"Josette?" Morganne recalled her conversation with Jamison the night she arrived. He had enumerated the members of the household. Morganne had now met everyone : ailing Rebecca, spacey Nora, and the young caretaker now before her. There had been no mention of a Josette.

"Have you eaten yet, ma'am?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts. "I'm headed back to the cottage, I will gladly make you breakfast if you like."

"Yes, thank you," she found herself agreeing. She intuited that the change of subject was only temporary, and she wanted to hear about Josette. They headed back the way she had come. The caretaker's cottage was about halfway between Collinwood and the old house - apparently Morganne had been so absorbed in thoughts of her dream that she had walked right past it without noticing.

Morganne sat at a table watching Liam prepare breakfast. He was fair-haired and of average build ; for some reason she had been expecting the groundskeeper to either be strapping and burly or a crusty, gnarled old man. Liam clattered around the tiny kitchen brewing coffee and making bacon and eggs, throwing them into a frying pan with a haphazardness that would have scandalized Bess Grossman. The end result was perfectly tasty, however, and while she ate they exchanged small talk about their duties as caretaker and governess. After breakfast Liam rinsed the dishes and they brought their coffee cups into the cramped sitting room to chat. As he stoked the fireplace he said casually, "I suppose you're still wondering who Josette is."

"Yes," she said.

He stood up from the fireplace, gave her a long, searching look, then said simply, "Josette's a ghost."

Morganne was momentarily taken aback. Then she replied, "With all due respect, Mr. Kennedy, that's quite impossible. I saw this woman. And I don't believe in ghosts."

"You will," he said.

For a moment they said nothing, looking at one another, his expression frank, hers incredulous. Finally he added, "Look, I know what you're thinking. I felt the same way, when I first came here. But… I've seen her. Many times. She likes to run around in the Old House and cry." He shrugged helplessly. "She's a ghost." There was a resigned finality in his tone.

Presently Morganne excused herself, thanked him for breakfast and returned to the main house, her mind reeling. She didn't know what to think.


	4. Chapter 4

Throughout the day, even as she tutored Elizabeth, Morganne's thoughts wandered, images swirling through her mind - a pale woman in white, floating through a dark room ; the caretaker, his face so frank and earnest. After lessons, Elizabeth bundled her books into her arms and started off to her room, but before she reached the door she turned back and called, hesitantly, "Miss Casey?"

"Yes, Elizabeth?"

The girl hovered near the door a moment, then came back across the room, plunked her schoolbooks upon a table, and sat back down next to her governess.

"Miss Casey, are you all right? You seemed distracted today. Is there anything wrong?"

Morganne looked into Elizabeth's upturned face, looked into her expressive blue eyes and saw concern there. If Morganne denied that anything was bothering her, Elizabeth would know it was a lie. Morganne was sure of that. She decided to be honest, because lying would set a precedent.

"I took a walk through the grounds today," Morganne said, "and I came upon the Old House. I thought I saw something through the window so I peered inside, and I saw a woman in a white dress." Morganne stood up and crossed to the window, gazing at the night beyond. "Just then the caretaker Mr. Kennedy happened to come by," she continued, "and I told him what I saw. He told me the woman is a ghost named Josette." She looked at Elizabeth. "I've never believed in ghosts. But your caretaker seems a reasonable man, and he didn't seem like he was teasing me. I don't know what to think," she finished. She and Elizabeth merely looked at one another for a moment. Then Morganne added, "Are you ever frightened to live here, Liz? Have you ever… seen anything?"

"No," the girl replied promptly. "Never, but… well, that doesn't mean there's nothing to see. Perhaps some people can see things that others cannot. My great-aunt Judith told me that once, as a little girl, she wandered far from the house and got lost somewhere along the coast. She almost died from exposure, but a woman in a long white dress appeared to her and told her not to be afraid. Shortly thereafter, although she was in a non-fished area, some fishermen discovered her and brought her to safety." Elizabeth looked at Morganne, and added firmly, "My great-aunt was a sensible woman not given to histrionics." Elizabeth began gathering her books again. "I have never seen Josette," she continued, "but I have heard other tales of her appearances, and by all accounts she shows up not to frighten but to protect and comfort. If you see her again, don't be afraid." Elizabeth started for the door.

For a moment Morganne wondered if she was undermining her own authority as a governess, by allowing her charge to comfort her, as if Elizabeth were the caring adult and Morganne the frightened child.

"Liz?" Morganne called out.

Elizabeth stopped at the threshold and turned back.

Morganne hesitated. "Thank you."

The child smiled. Then she left and went up to her room.

Morganne was surprised how quickly the weeks turned into months. During this time she grew, not comfortable exactly, but at least accustomed to the house. She did occasionally see and hear odd things. One night, working late on her lesson plans in the drawing room, she heard a female voice sobbing, sounding as though it were in the same room with her, though she was quite alone. Sometimes she would see a figure out of the corner of her eye, whirl to face it, and there would be nothing there. There were other, less obvious incidents as well ; sometimes she would be afflicted with a sudden chill though there was no draft, or the hairs on her arms would stand on end for no apparent reason. She tried to take these occurrences for granted and continue going about her business. She took some comfort in Elizabeth's assurances about Josette, as well as in the repeated visits she was making to the caretaker's cottage, where Liam always gladly offered her coffee and conversation.

During these visits, she and Liam talked for a long time, of many things. Morganne found herself smiling and laughing - she hadn't done much of either since she crossed Collinwood's threshold. She felt as though she were finally with a friend; Elizabeth was too young, Bess was too old, and, well, Lucy was Lucy.

One afternoon as Morganne was heading down the now-familiar path to Liam's cottage, she heard a rustling in the bushes and glanced in the direction of the sound. Lucy was picking her way through the woods, inspecting the leaves of a shrub. She had a wicker basket on her arm. Morganne thought this was strange, and she stopped on the path and watched Lucy, who had not noticed her. Lucy continued peering at the plants, sometimes pulling up a weed or flower and putting it into her basket. Finally Morganne remembered that she was to have tea with Liam, and continued down the path.

"I saw Lucy on my way down here," Morganne said as she settled onto a chair in Liam's sitting room. "It was a bit funny, she was rummaging through the foliage and seemed to be plucking things out and putting them into a basket."

"Oh?" Liam was hanging up Morganne's coat. "I didn't think strolling through nature was her cup of tea. Speaking of tea," he said, and he crossed into the kitchen where his teapot was whistling. "Funny day to go picking berries, too," he called from the other room, his words punctuated with the clinking of mugs. Morganne peered out the window. The sky was slate gray and a heavy mist hung in the air.

"I rather thought so too," she called back.

He reemerged from the kitchen and handed her a steaming mug. "Thank you," she replied. They drank silently for a moment, then she said, "I actually don't mind this weather much, actually. A bit of fog and rain makes for a nice day to read a book - or have a cup of tea."

He smiled. "You'll be in your element here, then. I know you're a Maine native, but we seem to have more of this gray weather here around Collinsport. You'll be happier than Lucy, at any rate. She hates it here, the way she grumbles and mutters about the weather you'd think she was from the tropics." He chuckled to himself and took another drink from his cup.

Suddenly it seemed to Morganne that Liam knew rather a lot about Lucy. With a sinking feeling it occurred to Morganne that perhaps he and Lucy were together - Liam was only a little older than Lucy, and both being employed at Collinwood they would have had ample opportunity to get to know one another, and spend time together.

She put her mug down. "Liam - are you and Lucy… I mean - not to be forward… that is to say…" She trailed off, wondering whether it was appropriate to ask. Perhaps she should ask Lucy instead, but she was sure Lucy would detect more than polite curiosity in the question, and Morganne didn't think she could bear the smugness as Lucy answered in the affirmative…

"Are we what?" Liam asked. His face showed his bemusement, and Morganne realized that she hadn't actually asked him a question.

She forced herself to say it. "Are you courting?"

For a moment his face was blank, as if he had not understood the simple three-word question. Then, to her astonishment, he actually threw back his head and laughed heartily. Morganne stared at him.

"Lucy? And myself? Oh, she wouldn't dream of it - for Lucy dreams big. Her eye is fixed well beyond her station. My hands are much too dirty for her liking."

"Forgive me," Morganne said, feeling her face flushing. "It was… just… you seem to know rather a lot about her."

"She makes her opinions known," he replied. "Nothing wrong with that, of course, but…" He looked at Morganne. "I'd like to hear a few less of hers and a little more of yours."

So she talked, of her childhood in Logansport, her feelings about Collinwood and her newfound acceptance of ghosts, her budding relationship with Elizabeth, and of many other things. The room grew steadily darker, but still they talked, oblivious, until suddenly they noticed they could barely see one another across the room. Liam got up to light a lamp, and Morganne headed back to Collinwood for dinner.

When Morganne came to the kitchen for breakfast next morning, it was to find Bess apparently in a sour mood.

"Mr. Collins is going to hold a party," she informed Morganne, with a tight-lipped grimace, as though having parties was a distasteful thing to do. "Lucy is positively skipping through the house."

Morganne noticed that Bess was filling up a large basket with cheeses and small pies and other foods.

"Are you preparing for a picnic?" Morganne asked.

"No, this is a gift for Mrs. Fillmore," Bess replied, "She lives down in the village. Mrs. Fillmore has taken ill in her later years and is on her sickbed." Bess was now tying a ribbon onto the basket.

"May I come into town with you?" Morganne asked.

"Of course, of course," Bess said, "getting free of this house for a while can only do you good."

So after Morganne's lessons with Elizabeth, she met Bess in the foyer and they left the mansion to visit the home of Mrs. Fillmore. "She's in the care of her daughter Lenore," Bess explained as they made their way to the door of the cottage, "and she with her own husband and daughters to look after, bless her!" They rapped at the door. The woman who answered was very beautiful, with fair skin and thick, wavy red hair. She welcomed Bess and Morganne into her home with a dazzling, warm smile, effusing with thanks over the gift basket. She left them in the cozy sitting room as she went to check on her mother and see if the old woman felt up to having visitors.

Mrs. Fillmore lay in her bed, gazing towards the ceiling and watching dust motes float lazily in the air through the rays of sun that fell on her bed. Her sickbed, they called it; her deathbed, she knew it to be. Lenore pretended it wasn't so. "Why, Mother," she would say, "you look to be feeling better; I daresay there's a bit more color in your cheeks today than yesterday!" And Lenore was so cheerful and radiant that her mother almost believed it, but the truth was that she could feel the life draining from her as steadily and surely as the grains of sand pour through an hourglass.

Lenore. Lovely Lenore. Gertrude Fillmore loved her daughter fiercely. If she had been childless, she would now be ready to greet Death, with no fear or hesitation. But as it was, she had a decision to make - whether she should tell her daughter the truth… and how much of that truth she should tell her.

Five words.

You are not my daughter.

For many years she'd had no intention of revealing this information to Lenore. Lenore might as well have been her true daughter - Gertrude loved her as fully and deeply as if she'd been pulled from her own womb. The truth was a sordid mess and ancient history, and Gertrude had seen no need to drag the skeletons from the proverbial closet. She would take the secret to her grave, she had decided - but that had been easy to say when there was no grave in her immediate future. In more recent years, as she felt the end of her life drawing nearer, Gertrude had become less sure of herself, and she debated in her mind and her heart, wavering between revelation and continued silence. Several times she had written Lenore a letter, bearing the legend "To be opened upon my death." But each time, she had ultimately crumpled it and tossed it into the fire.

Dearest Lenore, it always began.

About thirty years ago, I received a visit from Miss Judith Collins and her brother Mr. Edward Collins. Their younger brother Mr. Quentin Collins had become involved in an improper dalliance with Edward's wife, Mrs. Laura Collins, and subsequently Q and L had left Collinsport to travel to Egypt together.

Quentin had left behind a wife, Mrs. Jenny Collins. Unbeknownst to him, his wife was with child when he left her. Jenny Collins was deeply in love with her husband, and so emotionally shattered when he left her that she went mad. In this state of mind, she was in no condition to be a mother to her child.

Miss Judith and Mr. Edward arranged an agreement with me whereby I was to keep this infant in my home and care for it.

It transpired that Jenny Collins was carrying twins. The Collins' housemaid, a lovely and statuesque girl by the name of Beth, brought the babies to me. One of them was you, Lenore. Your brother fell ill and died the following year.

There is not much I can tell you about your parents. I did not know Quentin or Jenny Collins personally. I did have occasion to see your mother about town during the brief time that she and your father were happily married. Jenny Collins was extraordinarily beautiful, and you are the spitting image of her, Lenore. Your high cheekbones, your porcelain complexion, your luxuriant red hair - they are all from your mother. Your father had a reputation as rather a scoundrel, I must say. He was very tall and very handsome, with dark hair and striking blue eyes.

You may feel a need to go up to Collinwood and demand verification of this. I imagine you would be unsuccessful in such an endeavor. The current generation of the family may not even know about it. If they do, they may deny it. I only tell you because you have the right to know.

This is what she had written in the letters she threw in the fireplace, but even this was not the full truth. Firstly, there was the matter of Jenny's death. Mrs. Fillmore knew that Jenny had died by Quentin's hand, but she certainly could not bring herself to tell Lenore, even in a letter, that her father had murdered her mother.

And there was another secret beyond this… a truth so horrible that Mrs. Fillmore could not even stand to think about it herself, let alone write it down. A secret within a secret within a secret, stacked neatly inside each other like some perverse version of Russian nesting dolls…

Lenore had always been a happy girl, and now she was a happy woman - a devoted daughter, a loving wife and mother. What would happen to that joy if she found out she were a Collins? Gertrude thought again of Jenny Collins. Lenore had inherited more than looks from her; Jenny, for a tragically brief time, had that same effervescence and vivaciousness. Quentin Collins had drained it from her - first her happiness, then her sanity, then her life. Oh, they're a wretched lot, that Collins family. They may have their money and their fine clothes and their imposing manor home, but at what price? Their family history in which they took such pride was nothing but one long smear of blood - a never-ending stream of torment, lies, grief, murder, and unnatural doings.

But there was still that final secret, that last layer - the tiniest nesting doll. Lenore would never be truly free of her Collins blood, even if she wasn't aware of it, because they had left a sick legacy, like a disease running through her veins…

"Mother?" Lenore came into the room. Mrs. Fillmore's heart ached at the sight of her. My little girl, now a beautiful woman. Oh, my lovely Lenore…

"Mother, you have visitors. Do you feel well enough to receive them?"

"Lenore," Mrs. Fillmore said, and was alarmed to hear the frailty of her own voice - it belied her urgency. "Do you remember… when you were a girl… and I told you… never to get married?"

"Yes Mother," Lenore replied obligingly, now absently rearranging the flowers at Mrs. Fillmore's bedside, "but that's silly. I'm perfectly happy. I love my husband, and my girls."

"Girls," breathed Mrs. Fillmore, "Yes, girls… you are so lucky you didn't have sons!"

Lenore looked at her quizzically. "What's wrong with sons?"

"Lenore… promise me…" Gertrude was trying to speak more forcefully now, and with the added effort, she felt the sands of time rushing more quickly through the hourglass. "Promise me you won't let your daughters get married!"

"Mother, why?" Lenore cried. "Please tell me what you're talking about!" There was utter bewilderment on her face. Gertrude was flooded with panic - she needed to make her understand, but there wasn't time -

"They… mustn't… have… sons!" she gasped, and there was so much more she needed to say, but the final grain of sand slipped through the opening. Gertrude Fillmore's knowledge died with her.

Morganne was sitting in an armchair by the fire in her quarters when a rap came at her door. She marked her place and arose to greet her visitor, and found that it was Elizabeth.

"Good evening, Miss Casey, I hope I am not disturbing you?"

"Not at all," Morganne assured her, "I was only reading."

"I was sorry to hear about your visit to Mrs. Fillmore."

It had been rather unpleasant ; Bess and Morganne had an unusually long wait in the sitting room, ended only when Lenore returned, her eyes red, and informed them that her mother had just passed away. They had given her the gift basket and their condolences, then returned home to Collinwood.

"Yes," Morganne said, "it was unfortunate. Her daughter was very nice and quite composed under the circumstances."

"Let me tell you why I came to see you," Elizabeth said. "My father is holding a gala here Saturday next, as you are probably aware. I wanted to ask if you had any plans that evening."

"I thought I would shut myself up in my room and read," Morganne laughed, "as I am doing now!"

"Well, you are certainly free to do so, but you may attend our party if you like. At my invitation. I have already secured approval with my father."

"Thank you, Elizabeth, that's quite kind of you. I'm afraid I haven't anything appropriate to wear…" She thought of how the other guests would be dressed. Probably in the type of things she could only gaze at in catalogs.

"Well, if you think you would be uncomfortable, I quite understand," Elizabeth conceded. "But Miss Casey - please do consider it, at least. You are very lovely and will look quite nice in whatever you have to wear."

"Thank you, Elizabeth," Morganne said again. She didn't like the thought of trying to mingle amongst wealthy socialites, but she would do it if the alternative was disappointing Elizabeth. "All right, if you would like me to attend, I will be there."

"Wonderful." Elizabeth started to leave, but then she turned back to Morganne and said, "Oh, another thing - I understand that your friendship with our caretaker Mr. Kennedy has blossomed into courtship."

"Yes," Morganne said. She involuntarily broke into a smile. "We had a very nice dinner in Collinsport this evening."

"I'm glad to hear of it," Elizabeth replied, smiling too. "You are both fine people, kind and honest, and I am pleased to see you together."

"That truly means a lot to me, Liz, thank you," Morganne said, touched. "You know, I'm very glad I came to work here. I have found wonderful friendship, not just in Liam but in you too."

Elizabeth smiled again. "You see? This place isn't so scary after all."


	5. Chapter 5

Lucy McGregor sat on the floor of her bedroom in the servants' quarters of Collinwood and rolled out a little piece of fabric. It was a bit of silk, taken from the stores of material to be used for mending the Collins' clothing. It was fine silk, so expensive that she could be fired if they knew she was using even a few square inches of it for her own purposes.

She cut a second piece of silk and set to work with needle and thread, sewing the squares together. She sewed up three sides, leaving the fourth side open.

There was a small bowl sitting near her on the floor, and she pulled it toward her. It was full of the little flowers and weeds and leaves she had picked during her excursion into the woods. But they were no longer fresh and whole. Some had been placed into an old kettle and heated over the fire. Some had been chopped into fine pieces like ingredients for a salad. "The salad of death!" she whispered to herself, then erupted in laughter as she poured the bowl's contents into her little silk envelope.

One of the little gilt-edged books she had taken from Nora's box was lying near her right-hand. Lucy now picked up this book and thumbed through its crumbling yellow pages. She found the page she wanted and read it again, sometimes looking back and forth from the book to her little stuffed silk packet. She set the book down again and picked up her sewing needle. She pricked her finger with it and watched as the little crimson bead bubbled there. She took her silk envelope in one hand and shook her pricked finger over it so that the blood droplet fell into it. This done, she sewed up the final edge of the silk, so that it was now like a tiny pillow.

With the little silk sachet still in hand, she stood up and left her bedroom, navigating the dark corridors until she reached the place she wanted. She put her hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly, opening the door soundlessly and peering in. There, as always, the lady of the house lay on her bed, chalky white. Seeing that Mrs. Collins was sleeping, Lucy entered the room. For a moment Lucy stood over her, looking at the pale face, white as the bed sheets. Lucy took her little sachet and gently slipped it into Rebecca's pillowcase. Then she left the room, softly pulling the door closed behind her.

Morganne would have liked to have brought Liam to the party with her, but he was running errands for Mr. Collins in Bangor. So Morganne put on her nicest dress, which was in good shape but well-worn and plain, and descended the stairs.

The guests were dressed to the nines. Lucy was buzzing with excitement. She flitted next to Morganne and pointed shamelessly at people. "Those are the Worthingtons of Bar Harbor," she chattered, "and that's Mr. Druckett from Kennebunkport. Oh look, there's Mr. Paxton, all the way from Boston! Boston, can you believe it? Oh and that's Old Lady Kenmore, from Portland." And so she prattled on, always knowing their name and whether they were from Augusta or Bangor. She was full of disdain for Mr. Logan of Logansport, who had turned her down for a job a couple years back.

"Old codger didn't think I'd be competent enough to clean up after him," she said haughtily. Just then a silver-haired man in a pinstriped suit came up to Lucy and snapped, "Sorry to interrupt your chat, but my wife asked you for a drink five minutes ago, girl!" and she slunk off to serve them.

Morganne stood in a corner and people-watched. She had never seen so many clearly wealthy people in one place at one time. Many of the women were dripping with jewels that were probably worth more money than her parents' cottage in Logansport.

She also observed Jamison Collins sweeping through the room. There was clearly a magnetism to him. Large clumps of guests congregated wherever he was. Men who had been running their mouths off loudly, bragging about business deals, clearly very interested in themselves, grew quiet and became absorbed listeners when Mr. Collins had something to say. Women also had a tangible reaction to him, drinking his words, some surreptitiously placing a hand on his arm while he spoke to them. It was more than his personality or his wealth, Morganne knew. She personally felt no attraction for him - he was over forty years old, and her boss to boot - but she could see how others might find him handsome. His light reddish hair was thick and gleamed where the light hit it.

"See how he takes command of the room," said a voice, and Morganne found that Lucy was beside her again. Apparently she had seen that Morganne was watching Mr. Collins. "There are maybe a hundred people here," Lucy went on, "and yet a perfect stranger could walk in here, take one look at Jamison Collins, and know that he is the man of this house. It is nothing specific he says or does, but it emanates from within him." A strange light danced in her eyes.

Morganne said nothing. She wished that she had stayed in her room after all. She wanted to make Liz happy, but she hadn't even gotten a glimpse of the child since coming downstairs. She looked around at the swarms of people milling around. She supposed she ought to be excited to be here. The socialites floated through the room in their finery. Sounds drifted through the air, the hum of conversation, the tinkle of laughter, the clinking of glasses. The women in their party dresses gave the room splashes of color, rich scarlet and deep blue and lush green. Earrings and necklaces glittered everywhere like so many fireflies. Morganne hated it.

"Hmm, I don't know who that man is," Lucy said. Apparently she had torn her gaze away from Mr. Collins long enough to continue her inventory of the guests. I don't care who he is, Morganne thought dully. Lucy marched straight up to the man and asked him boldly, "Who are you?" Morganne was shocked out of her indifference. "I've not seen you here before," Lucy continued.

The man didn't seem at all troubled by her impudence. He had black hair and eyes and was handsome in a roguish sort of way. He looked to be a little older than Mr. Collins ; there was gray in his goatee and at his temples.

"The name's Wendell Sykes, miss," he told Lucy. "Wendell Sykes of Bangor. Just closed a deal with the Collins Cannery." He looked her over rather hungrily, not even bothering to be discreet about it. Morganne was revolted; Lucy seemed not to notice or care. Sykes then turned his dark eyes on Morganne, and though she was nowhere near as full-figured as Lucy, she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Lucy! Oh Lucy!" The voice that called out was dreamy and singsong. Nora Collins edged her way over to them. She was in a sparkling black dress and a shawl, and her hair was unkempt. "Lucy McGregor, pour me a drink!"

"Why, Nora!" Lucy exclaimed. "Here you are, now it's a real party!" She giggled and disappeared into the crowd to fix Nora a drink. Nora turned her huge brown eyes on Morganne.

"Hello, Miss Governess, how are you? I forgot your name."

"That's quite all right, it's Morganne Casey. I'm quite well, thank you Miss Collins."

"Collins?" Wendell Sykes repeated. "She is a Collins?" He looked at Nora with a sharper interest in his eye.

"Nora Collins," Nora said. "I am Jamison's sister."

Wendell moved closer to Nora. "His younger sister, I presume." His voice was oily. Morganne frowned.

Nora smiled, deep dimples forming in her plump cheeks. "Oh, why yes, three years younger." She clearly was pleasantly surprised at the attention.

Lucy returned to Nora's side and handed her a drink.

"Miss Collins knows all sorts of delightful stories!" Lucy said, and she winked at Morganne and Sykes. "Miss Collins! Tell me the story of your mother again!"

"My mother?" Nora repeated. "Oh, my mother was beautiful. A beautiful creature." Her voice grew so misty that her usual tone was positively harsh by comparison. "A creature… of fire."

"A creature of fire?" Wendell said curiously. Lucy grinned as though she were hearing a joke she already knew the punchline to.

"A creature of fire, yes," Nora said, nodding. Her eyes were glazed over. "She was fire. She… she burst into flames before my very eyes! I saw her burn! I saw her burn!"

Nora's voice had risen to a hysterical shriek, and by this time more than a few of the classy ladies and gentlemen in attendance had turned to stare. Morganne was positively mortified.

"See? She's gone round the bend!" Lucy giggled.

Morganne saw Mr. Collins rushing through the crowd, his face hard. "Nora!" he hissed, coming up beside her and grabbing her arm roughly. "What are you doing here? Stop talking that nonsense!"

She looked up at her brother, her dark eyes wide and innocent. "But you were there too, Jamison! Don't you remember when Mother burned?"

Morganne had never seen Mr. Collins so flustered. His face was almost purple. "Go to your room!" he spluttered.

"I wanted to come to the party!" she whined like a petulant child.

"Get upstairs!" he hissed, and he steered her towards the stairs and almost dragged her up them. She was actually crying, everyone was staring, and Morganne really wished she had just stayed in her room.

Wendell Sykes strolled through the grounds of Collinwood, making his way around the perimeter of the mansion. He had gone outside, citing a need for "fresh air", but to be honest, he was just bored - the so-called party had gotten rather dull once Jamison Collins had banished his crazy sister to her room.

Just ahead, there were faint voices coming to him on the breeze, and he heard someone say the crazy sister's name. Nora. Someone was talking about her. Curious, he followed the sound of the voices, edging along the side of the house.

Jamison Collins and the little blonde housemaid were at the gazebo. Sykes edged closer, near enough to hear them, but remaining concealed in the dark shadows.

"It is bad enough that Nora tells her outrageous stories," Collins was saying. "You needn't exacerbate the problem by encouraging her fancies."

"I'm helping you," Lucy replied. "Everyone sees what a handful your sister is, and they will be impressed by your caring and generosity, that you keep her in your house and do not have her put away."

"I do not need your help!" he snarled at her. "This is a party in my home, not a circus! All the work I do to keep her quiet and you drag her out and put her on display!"

"Drag her out? I didn't, Jamison, she came down of her own accord!" The tearfulness in her voice was pathetically fake, Wendell noticed. "Oh, please don't shout at me, Jamison!" She collapsed against him in badly-acted sobs.

"Stop that pitiful crying, do you take me for a fool?" Collins said, but he put his arms around her.

"Jamison! Would I deceive you? You've brought me to tears!" Sykes could hear a smile in her voice as she said it.

"Perhaps I ought to let Nora have the run of the house and lock you up instead. Her housekeeping is probably a damn sight better than yours." His voice was still angry, but Sykes understood now. They were playing some sort of game. Teasing each other.

"Now he insults my work," she said in a ridiculously pouty tone. "But…" her voice grew softer, and Sykes had to lean forward to hear. "I thought you appreciated my skills." She took his hand and put it to her breast. Wendell grinned to himself. His instinct had led him out of the house, and by Jove, his instinct hadn't let him down.

"Indeed," Collins said, "your skill is prodigious." Their mouths met ; Sykes grinned more widely. They were entwined for so many minutes with ever-increasing aggressiveness that he wondered how much he would get to see. He leaned against a tree and was fully prepared to enjoy a lengthy show, but Mr. Collins reluctantly disentangled himself from the girl's grasp and gently pushed her away. "This is neither the time nor the place. Go back to the party."


End file.
